


Queens

by VeryMauve



Category: Original Work
Genre: Femme Cis Man, Femme Top, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Older Man/Younger Man, Trans Male Character, Trans/Cis Relationship, femme trans boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 01:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryMauve/pseuds/VeryMauve





	1. Chapter 1

Every theatrical queer you meet's got a story about doing a turn as one of History's Great Queens when they were little. Mine was Cleopatra. When I was six years old, someone bought me a children's history book for Christmas, which had a full-page picture of her. Black hair, black eyes, dripping in blue and gold jewellery, and underneath a little caption about how she ruled Egypt and the hearts of men. And not just any men, oh no. The mighty Caesar, and his second-in-command! Who wouldn't want to be her? So on Boxing Day morning, I sashayed into the living room covered in my mum's Max Factor and enough costume jewellery to sink a ship, with a gold voile curtain and some foil wrapping paper draped around me as a mantle, and declared, "I am Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile!"

It went down about as well as you'd expect, and the hiding I got from my dad was the worst I'd ever had, but it solidified an idea in my little mind which I've never yet seen contradicted: glamour provokes as much hate as it does love, so you've got to pick your audience wisely. That wasn't the last time I paraded around someone's house in voile and an inch of makeup, but it was the last time I did it in my parents' front room. These days I’m not exactly discreet, but I’m careful. For work, I butch it up a bit. Face bare, nails bare, minimal perfume, so it’s really only the threaded eyebrows and the hair dye that give me away. No-one minds much if a shelf-stacker trundles by with a black and cerise ombre, you’re just part of the furniture, so who cares? But I know how much is too much.

When I’m at home I let my hair down, obviously, but the best time for a bit of glamour is when you’re out and about in a group. Half a dozen visible queers is a lot safer than just me on my own, and it helps to have a built-in audience who you can count on to get your aesthetic. Even better if me and my little troupe are floating around in a sea of other queers. That’s the only reason I do Pride these days. I just like a chance to make an exhibition of myself in front of people who speak my language.

So I always push the boat out for our local History Month events, because History Month is in winter, and winter means _coats_. That year I had a big faux-fur thing, black on the outside, champagne silk on the inside, long enough to tickle my calves if I went bare-legged, which I was happy to do inside but not outdoors on a February afternoon. Underneath I went for glamorous but warm. Tight fake leather jeans on the bottom, and tons of layers on the top, which meant that if I did happen to get lucky, the poor man would’ve had to excavate down past a lace cardigan, a silk shirt, and two strappy camisoles to get to the good stuff. The finishing touches were a generous spray of knockoff Midnight Fantasy, because I agree with Cleopatra that your enemies should smell you coming a mile off, and a He/Him pronoun badge nestled in amongst all the brooches on my cardigan, because if I’m going to be around cis gays I’m leaving nothing to chance. If I don’t telegraph it, I get read as a flat-chested cis girl until I open my mouth, and then they think I’m a trans girl, and the actual reality of the situation seems to be the last thing anyone ever considers, because apparently in the twenty-first century it’s unthinkable that a trans man might wear makeup.

And yeah, I probably am spoiling for a fight before I’ve even set foot outside, but you don’t get anywhere by giving people the benefit of the doubt.

The events they put on for History Month around here are always a bit of a mishmash, as if someone put Pride and IDAHOT through a blender. You’ll have a bit of historical content, which is usually about that one gay poet who lived in the next town over, and who may or may not at some point have visited a now-defunct old cottage near the tennis courts. You’ll have the usual string of stalls put on by the council and the PCT, which are basically reconstituted from last year’s Pride: adoptions, sexual health, youth groups, and usually one about reporting hate crime, with a copper standing next to it like a uniformed version of those religious leafleteers who just stand and _stare_ at you as you walk by. The best bit is always the café, which serves rubbish coffee and dry buns, but it’s an excuse to take over a couple of tables and hold court for the afternoon. I like parading around, but I like sitting down and putting my feet up even more.

That year there were a few special attractions in the historical bit. Somehow we’d gotten an artist who briefly lived here as a kid to put on an exhibition, and a PhD student from the nearest university town came down to do a talk about their dissertation, neither of which was my cup of tea exactly, but they sounded like a good opportunities to try and bag a man with brains for a change. Me and Jaime went for a wander round the art exhibition on our own, and left the rest of them to it in the café. If I’m on the prowl I like to have backup, but not too much backup. I don’t want anyone taking the limelight off me. So we went round the exhibition arm in arm, slowly since he was tottering along in his new platforms, and pretended to be engrossed in each picture while I surreptitiously scoped out each man in attendance. It was the usual sorry turnout. A couple of giggly twinks, three bears, and a doddery old man in an M&S cardigan, none of which was any use to me.

“Pitiful,” Jaime said under his breath. “I don’t know why we bother.”

“My ever-lasting optimism,” I said, “or desperation, take your pick.”

He smirked, and the glitter in his lipstick twinkled. “If it carries on like this we’ll have to go home together.”

“I’m not _that_ desperate.”

“Charming,” he laughed.

“I know, isn’t it a mystery why I’m still single?”

He didn’t answer. He was looking over my shoulder, and his eyes widened just slightly as I watched his face. “Jules,” he said, quietly, “don’t turn around, but there is a platinum-level likely candidate making his way past the collages right now.”

“Ooh, where?” I spun around, and clapped eyes on Mr Platinum straight away. You couldn’t miss him, any more than you could miss me. About forty, I reckoned, although it was hard to tell from a distance, since he had a bit of slap on. Tall, with a bit of extra height from the little Cuban heels on his shoes. Knee-length cream coat, probably cashmere, with thin amber suede lapels, and matching gloves. Blond hair, short and side-parted, with a bit of a wave in one side, and a few white streaks that could have been age or highlights. Perfect eyebrows, too, the best I’d seen on anyone around here who wasn’t me. Even if I hadn’t fancied him, I’d have gone over to ask where he got them done.

He must have spotted me straight away too. He looked right at me, steadily, with eyes like a hawk that just spotted his lunch. Then he smiled, and turned away.

“Listen, you two,” Aiden’s voice cut in, gruff and booming, “Tony’s hungry so we’re going to nip out to Tesco’s, d’you want to come along or..?”

I turned around and glared at Tony. He wasn’t looking at me, as usual. Apparently I make him uncomfortable, which is fine by me, because I can’t stand him either. One of those stupid kids who won’t shut up about the effects he’s getting from T. Last week it was the libido, this week he’s got the munchies, and you can just tell he’s going to be the type who makes you sit through two million beard growth pictures once it starts coming in. I transitioned five years ago, so I’ve heard enough of that stuff to last a lifetime, trust me. Tony and his munchies can get knotted.

“You lot go on ahead,” Jaime answered, saving me from saying something I’d regret. “Me and Julian are going to stay here for that university talk.”

Aiden shrugged. “Alright, see you later, guys.”

When I turned back around, Mr Platinum was gone, and I threw my hands up in disgust. “Typical!”

Jaime patted my arm. “It’s alright, Jules, I saw where he went. He’s gone through to the lecture room. Come on, if we hurry up you can still get your man.”

We followed his trail into the big conference room they were using for the lecture, and I spotted him sitting in the middle of one of the rows near the back, so we made a bee-line for him and set up camp in the row in front. Jaime sat on my left, so whenever I turned to look at him, I could see Mr Platinum behind us, and more importantly he had a clear view of me.

“I hope you get lucky today,” Jaime said, coughing a bit as I moved my chair, “because I don’t think I can take another week of you drenching yourself in perfume as a mating call.”

I elbowed him. “Who says I haven’t got lucky recently? For all you know I could’ve been up all last night with someone new.”

“Wasn’t your last dalliance before Christmas, Jules? You’ve got two months of pent up energy to unleash, and when the dam breaks you’ll probably give the poor old guy a heart attack.”

“Yeah, well, I’m worth it.”

“Well, if the next one’s rich, make sure you’re in the will before you pop your cork.”

Over Jaime’s shoulder I could see Mr Platinum watching us, watching _me,_ really, smiling a little bit. The spark was still in his eyes, the look that made me feel like he was planning what to do with me, which was a relief. Some men find the campness funny but not sexy, so I like to lay it on thick right from the start, because there’s no point wasting time on a man who deflates at the sight of a limp wrist. But he looked more interested, not less, and he wasn’t shy about eye contact either. He looked at me like we were the only people in the room, like two aliens from the same planet, tuning out all the humans around them, talking through locked eyes.

“Oh my god,” Jaime muttered, “if you drool any more you’ll smear your lipstick…”

“Shut up, you’re just jealous.”

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “Look, he’s obviously into it, why don’t you just go over there and get it over w—”

The announcer guy started introducing the PhD student, and me and Jaime both stopped talking and turned to face the little podium. I kept my mouth shut for the entire lecture. I wanted to prove that I could sit quietly and behave, so Mr Platinum didn’t think I was too brassy to be taken out and about. He looked like the type that might take me to a restaurant, and I wasn’t spoiling my chances just for a bit of banter. I just watched the PhD student gesticulating and zoned out. I thought about what I was going to say to Mr Platinum when I got his attention, whether to start slow or go right in for the kill. I imagined what he might be wearing under that gorgeous coat, and how much of it he’d keep on later. I pictured what it would be like when we got down to it, what he’d do to me, whether he’d be nice or nasty. He had to be the cruel type, I reckoned. No-one with eyebrows that precise is kind and giving. The man who first taught me how to do my face was a real sadist. He liked everything pristine and he didn’t settle for anything less than perfection. It’d been a long time since anyone had given me a seeing-to as mean as that. I could almost feel it, almost taste it. The feeling of lipstick smeared across my mouth. The scent of my perfume getting deeper as he made me sweat. Mascara smudging and stinging my eyes.

“Come on,” Jaime said quietly, nudging me. “It’s finished, so get a move on before you miss your chance.”

We went back through into the café, and there he was. Sitting at a table in the middle of the room, holding a paper cup but not drinking, with his coat draped over the chair next to him. I’d guessed wrong about what was underneath. It wasn’t a suit, after all. It was even better: a pair of champagne trousers, and a burgundy roll-neck jumper, pushed up to his elbows. One wrist had a few thin gold bracelets around it, with little dark red stones that glittered as he moved. He was looking right at me again, smiling a little bit, and waiting.

“Stay here,” I said to Jaime, “but hang around in case it goes wrong.”

“As always,” he said, and patted my back.

I’d taken my coat off in the lecture room when it got hot, and now I had to carry it over my arm like a cloakroom boy, but I tried not to let it make me feel awkward. It was scary enough making the first move with a man like this one, without my brain inventing extra reasons why I look like a fool. So I plastered my best supercilious look on my face, and sashayed over to him like I was the star attraction.

“Hello,” I said, turning my smile up to full volume. “I’m Julian.”

“Hello,” he said, in a voice like white chocolate. It was fruity, like mine, but a bit deeper and much richer. Mine was the standard camp voice, and his was the deluxe, million-calorie version.

“I just wanted to say,” I carried on, “that I love your outfit. It’s gorgeous. I’d kill for a coat like that.”

“Thank you, dear.” He smiled at me, not warmly, but not frostily either. “I’m sure you could easily get hold of something like this,” he said, gesturing at the coat, “without resorting to murder.”

I got his meaning, but I wanted to make him lay it all out explicitly, so I giggled and said, “I wish! I’d need a sugar daddy to afford something _that_ nice.”

“Well,” he said, “I’m surprised you don’t already have a generous friend or two.”

“I did, once,” I said, wondering why I was answering so honestly, “but not anymore. These days I’m on my own.”

He patted the seat next to him. “Why don’t you sit down, dear? Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks,” I said, sitting down, “I’ve tried the coffee already, and I think another cup might finish me off.”

He laughed. “We’ll have to go somewhere with a better menu, next time.”

“Ooh, you’ll regret saying that…” I turned up the cockiness a little bit. “I’ve got expensive tastes, you know.”

He leaned back and crossed his legs at the knee. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve bankrupted myself for a pretty face.”

I laughed, and turned around slightly so I could catch Jaime’s eye. He was standing near the door, drinking coffee and looking bored. As soon as he saw me looking his way, he raised an eyebrow. I smiled and nodded slightly, and he grinned. A quick nod goodbye and my backup was gone. I was on my own with Mr Platinum.

“I’m not _that_ demanding,” I said, turning back to him, “and besides, even if I was, I’m worth it.”

“I’m sure you are.” He put his cup down, and looked at the slim gold watch on his wrist. “Are you staying for the rest of the talks?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “I hadn’t made my mind up yet.”

“Would you like to go somewhere else now? I’m sure we can find a nicer place to talk than this.”

“Where d’you have in mind?” I said, not having a single clue where he might want to take me. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be Costa, but beyond that I had no idea. I didn’t even know if we had anywhere nicer around here, let alone where it might be.

“There’s a little coffee shop near here,” he said, “which should be fairly quiet around this time of day.”

“Alright,” I said, and then realised I hadn’t done The Talk yet. “Oh, hang on,” I carried on, putting my hand up. “You’ve seen this, right?” I pointed at the pink-and-blue He/Him badge on my cardigan.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“You know what it means, then?”

“Yes, it’s to prevent people from reading you as a girl. I could have used one of those myself, when I was your age, dear. A bit of macquillage really does confuse some people.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not cos I’m fabulous, it’s because I’m trans. As in, a trans _boy,_ as in, ‘F to M’ if you want to get all 1990s retro about it. You get what that means, right?”

“Yes,” he said, “I know what it means.”

“Good, because I don’t want to go all the way to this coffee shop if you’re going to freak out on me when the penny drops.”

He smiled. “I’m not going to ‘freak out’ on you.”

“Great.” I grinned at him and stood up. “What are we waiting for?”

The café was a little Italian-themed place that I’d never seen before, and he was right about it being mostly empty. I sat down at a table in the corner, half-hidden by a fancy glass screen, and while I was waiting for Mr Platinum to bring the drinks over, I texted Jaime to let him know where I was. He replied straight away, asking how it was going. I said “he’s buying me a hot chocolate that costs £3.50,” and Jaime texted back a wall of thumbs-up emoji.

“I’ve just realised,”, I said, when Mr Platinum came back, “I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Anthony,” he said, smiling at me over his latte.

If he’d been the type to shorten it to ‘Tony’, I think I’d have gotten up and left there and then, because there’s nothing like a bad association to completely kill your libido. I breathed a sigh of relief and carried on grilling him. “D’you live round here, then? I’m thinking you can’t be local, otherwise we’d have run into each other by now.”

“Oh, I do live nearby, but I’ve only recently moved here. Had to downsize a little, you see, and at the same time my employer offered me a transfer to a different branch, so I decided to move to somewhere where the cost of living was a bit lower.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“A very boring job in design, for a very boring organisation.” Anthony laughed. “Far too dull to dwell on. Why don’t you tell me about yourself instead?”

I don’t have to be told twice to talk about myself, so I told him the selected highlights. He was surprised at how old I was, since he’d pegged me at around twenty, not twenty-six. I was nearly spot-on with my guess at his age, though. Forty-two, he said, although I didn’t really know if he was shaving a few years off. I told him a bit about my jobs, but not much beyond complaining about the hours, and then about the shared house I lived in. He winced when I said I lived with four other people, and then he explained that he’d never be able to share a house with more than one or two others, since he liked peace and quiet too much.

“You live on your own, then?”

“Yes,” he said, “I used to live with someone before I moved, but now I’ve got a house to myself, and I’m quite enjoying the space, to be perfectly honest.”

“Wow, so you’ve got the whole place to yourself?” I was impressed that he could afford to live alone, obviously, but more than anything I was thinking how convenient it would be to have a boyfriend with his own house. The extra privacy, the option of staying the night without getting in anyone’s way, the space to leave some of my things there if I started sleeping over regularly. Compared to operating out of a shared house, it sounded like a dream.

”Yes, it was advertised it as a two-person starter home,” he laughed, “but I’d say it’s the right size for one old queen and his extensive wardrobe.”

“How near is ‘nearby’, then?”

“Oh, only about a twenty-minute drive.” He smiled at me. “Were you thinking you might like to see it?”

“Definitely.”

“Well,” he said, “I’m free for the rest of this afternoon.”

I grabbed my coat. “In that case, I’m ready to go whenever you are.”


	2. Chapter 2

The sex was great. A bit vanilla, by my standards, but he knew what he was doing. He’d never been with a trans boy before, but got to grips with my non-standard equipment easily enough. And best of all, Anthony had no interest in fucking me in the front, unlike your average PIV-obsessed Grindr moron. He just wanted my mouth and my derriere, and he got them in abundance. I came too quickly, but he wasn’t annoyed. When I apologised for it, he just said it was flattering.

“You’ve got to remember, I’ve got the hormones of an eighteen-year-old,” I said afterwards, “so I’m no good at self-control. That’s why I need a nice older man to keep me in line.”

He laughed. “Do I count as a nice older man?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said, grinning. I wanted to say, _you’re_ _the nicest I’ve ever met!_ But I kept my mouth shut.

The house was lovely too. Not _Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous_ , but miles better than what I called home. Huge living room, lots of brocade, and a nice big sofa, roomy enough for me to stretch out on. And I’m 5 foot 9, so when I say roomy, I mean _roomy_. Could have done with more decorative touches, but it was nothing I couldn’t sort out if he let me loose in The Range with his cash card. Upstairs there were two bedrooms, like he’d said, but I didn’t get to see much of them, since we mainly stayed in the living room. I had a quick look in both while I was upstairs getting freshened up afterwards though, and it looked pretty promising. One big luxurious master bedroom, and a smaller spare room which was pretty much empty. I could see myself fitting into either. Ideally, I’d be in the big bed with Anthony, but if he turned out not to be the cuddly type, then I reckoned I’d be happy enough sleeping in the spare room.

All signs were pointing to him being the cuddly type, though. Most men want rid of me as soon as they’ve come, so they phone a taxi for me and say goodbye before it’s even pulled up. There was none of that with Anthony. He insisted on driving me home, even though he must have been completely knackered, and before I got out of the car he leaned over and kissed me, with his hand cupping the back of my neck, under my hair, in that spot where no-one ever touches, and it felt like his touch went right through to the core of me. I didn’t want to go home. If I could have stayed in that car all night, I would have.

When I finally went inside, Lyndsey was already in bed, but Mel was still in the living room watching TV.

“Have a good time?” she said, smirking a bit.

I shrugged. “It was alright.”

“Did you get his number?”

“How d’you know I was out with someone new? I could’ve been out enjoying my own company, for all you know.”

She laughed. “Not unless you’ve developed the ability to smear your own lipstick, love.”

My cheeks started getting hot, so I made a face at her, and said, “Anyway, yes, we did swap numbers, as it happens.”

“Think this one’s got any long-term potential, then?”

“Nah,” I laughed, “he’s not rich enough, for a start.”

I went upstairs and got ready for bed, and even after twenty minutes of cleansers and serums and night creams, I was still thinking about Anthony. The way he held my wrists behind my back when he fucked me. The way he stroked my hair afterwards, combing it through with his fingers, smoothing out all the tangles. The way his voice made my name sound ten times more elegant. Everything, everything about him. My brain was full of him. He was all I had room for. Everything else was blocked out.

Then I got into bed, turned out the lights, and burst into tears, because I knew I’d never hear from him again.


	3. Chapter 3

Except when I woke up the next morning, there was a text from Anthony waiting for me. “Had such a wonderful time last night,” it said, “would love to see you again – are you free on Saturday?” There were three sparkly hearts after it, and I didn’t know if that meant the same thing to a man in his forties, but to me, sparkly hearts meant it was the Real Deal. Especially sparkly hearts that were sent at 8:07 in the morning, which meant he must have messaged me either on his commute or maybe from the office if he was an early starter. If he was thinking about me at that time in the morning, then maybe he’d been thinking about me as he went to sleep the night before. Maybe he’d been dreaming about me, the way I’d dreamt about him. Maybe things were really going to go my way.

I texted him back straight away, saying yes and asking him where he was taking me. Maybe that was a bit cheeky, but he seemed to find all the kept-boy stuff cute, so I thought going for a Material Girl tone would keep him interested. And besides, older men love an opportunity to show off how much money they’ve got, don’t they? Makes them feel important.

I didn’t get anything back from Anthony until lunchtime, though, and by time I’d convinced myself he’d got cold feet. I spent the first couple of hours of my shift moping, giving one-word answers to everything, and spacing out whenever there was no-one directly in front of me. I could see my supervisor frowning whenever I caught her eye, and I knew she was gearing up for another performance conversation, but I couldn’t snap out of it. At about twelve my phone finally buzzed, and I got one of the others to cover for me while I ran off to the toilet to check it, but it was only Jaime, saying “UPDATE PLS”. I replied saying it went fine, and then I was in such a huff that I turned my phone off altogether.

At lunchtime I went for a walk, and it took me the first ten minutes to work up the nerve to switch my phone back on. What if he’d replied to say he’d changed his mind? What if I’d annoyed him? What if there was no message at all? Maybe he was going to ghost me. Maybe it was better not knowing. But eventually the suspense was too much for me. I sat down on a bench, turned the phone back on, and waited. It seemed to take forever to pick up a connection, and then two messages came in at once. The first was just from Jaime, so I dismissed it without reading it, but the second was from Anthony. My heart almost stopped. I didn’t want to open it. I’ve got my notifications set to not display a preview, because I don’t want anyone at work seeing the start of one of Jaime’s smutty jokes, and the downside of that is that I can torture myself just looking at the unread message icon. Not knowing is definitely worse than knowing.

After a few minutes of psyching myself up, I opened the message from Anthony. I breathed out so hard in relief that I startled an old biddy walking by me. It said, “Depends, would you rather go somewhere local, or further afield where we can let our hair down?”

I forgot about all the fretting I’d been doing. My mind went into planning overdrive in about two seconds flat. I wanted the option where I could glam myself up, obviously, but I also wanted to be cute, so I said “Whichever costs more!”

His reply came straight back, and he gave me the names of a restaurant and a bar in the gay village of the nearest big city, which I agreed to without googling them. I’d been to the village before but not in either of those places, since wherever I am I usually just aim for whichever gay pub has the cheapest drinks. To be honest I didn’t care where he took me, really. I just wanted to see him, and anything he liked was bound to be brilliant, so I would’ve agreed to pretty much anything.

On the bus home I read Jaime’s message, which was just “fine in what sense”, and when I replied to tell him about the Saturday date, he gave me a thorough grilling. By the time we got to my stop, he knew as much about Anthony as I did, and he’d helped me plan out the basics of my Date Two outfit: velvet jeans and a satin shirt with lace panels down the sides, all in blood red, which Jaime called my Scarlet Bitch outfit. I was initially planning to wear the same black faux-fur coat as before, but Jaime convinced me to go for my leather bolero instead, even though it was still a bit frosty in the evenings. “If he’s giving you the door-to-door chauffeur service, you’ll be indoors most of the night anyway,” he said, “so go for a short jacket, don’t cover up the main attraction.”

I assembled the outfit when I got home, and hung it on the back of the wardrobe door so I could see it from the bed. Every night before I went to sleep, I looked at it and imagined what Saturday was going to be like. Whether he’d like the outfit. What his hands would feel like on top of the velvet. Whether he’d unbutton the shirt himself or make me do it. The way my scars would look paler next to all that red lace, maybe pale enough that you could forget they were there in the first place.

Anthony didn’t text me again, after we’d agreed what time he was picking me up. No sparkly hearts, no ‘good morning’s, just radio silence. I started getting worried after a couple of days, and I kept writing drafts of texts to him, then deleting them, the rewriting them, over and over but never sending them. I just wanted to know he was still interested, but I couldn’t make myself ask. I didn’t want to annoy him. I know I’m over-the-top, I’m way too much for most men. I didn’t want to go too far, not this early on.

Instead I tried to take my mind off it however I could. On the Wednesday night, I went round to see one of my regular hookup guys, in the hopes that the sex would make everything with Anthony feel less important. And it was good sex, trust me, that guy’s got no personality to speak of so if he wasn’t good at topping I’d never bother with him, but it still didn’t take my mind off Anthony. When I went home afterwards, I just kept thinking how nice it’d be if I was going home to Anthony’s house instead of mine. He wasn’t the monogamous type, he’d made that clear early, so I reckoned he’d enjoy hearing about my hookups. I wanted to hear all about his, anyway. I liked the idea of coming home to him and comparing notes. Maybe we could even do some group stuff, eventually. Pretty much anything would be better if Anthony was there.

On Thursday I went out with Jaime, and bored him stupid with all my fretting. He was nice about it, but I could tell he was getting annoyed. About ten o’clock, a big muscly guy came over to chat Jaime up, which would normally be my cue to disappear off to the other end of the pub, since he goes for the beefy ones. But I was in the middle of asking him whether he thought I should text Anthony before I went home, and when Mr Muscle appeared next to him, I didn’t stop talking. I didn’t even slow down. The beefy guy tried his best to insert himself into the conversation, and he even bought drinks for both of us, but I didn’t care. I’d had three already, and the only thing I could focus on was Anthony. Eventually Mr Muscle wandered off, and Jaime let him go, didn’t even chase after him to swap numbers. He just sat with me and listened.

I only had work in the morning on Friday, so I spent the whole afternoon and evening beautifying myself, which is a lot of work now that I’m twenty-six. I got the short end of the skincare stick when I started T, and nowadays if I don’t keep on top of my routine then my entire face turns into an oil slick. For special occasions, I do a longer version with ten steps, kind of like a budget home spa thing, and I was in the middle of that when Anthony finally texted me. This time I opened it straight away, in such a rush that I forgot my hands were covered in clay mask, which got smeared all over my phone.

The message wasn’t a long one, it just said “Looking forward to tomorrow so much,” and then three purple hearts. But it was enough for me. I was so excited that I wanted to reply straight away, but I thought that if he’d waited five days, then replying within a few minutes would make me look clingy and desperate. At first I was planning to reply the next morning, but I kept looking at my phone while I finished the rest of my face routine, planning what I was going to say and imagining how he’d react, and then when it got to bedtime I just snapped and texted him “Me too!!!” with a load of kisses. Then I got embarrassed, and a bit scared, so I turned my phone off again and kept it off all night.

I only get every other Saturday off, generally, so I try to make the most of them. Usually me and Jaime go shopping and then have a pampering afternoon round his house, and then we both do our own thing in the evening, which for him is usually some random Grindr beefcake, whereas for me it’s either a night in the pub with the Aiden and the rest of them, or going home to get some extra beauty sleep. Having Date Two scheduled for Saturday night meant the usual routine was all messed up. I still went shopping with Jaime, but my heart wasn’t in it. We walked round the market for ages looking at costume jewellery, trying to find a necklace that went with Jaime’s new bangles, but I was useless. Every time he held up a necklace and asked me what I thought, he had to try two or three times to get my attention. I was miles away, thinking about what the meal with Anthony would be like. I hadn’t had been taken out for a meal in years, normally the nearest I ever get to that is going to Pizza Hut with the trans support group. I didn’t really even know how you were supposed to behave in a place like that. Going out to a restaurant was the kind of thing that happened in films, not real life, or at least not _my_ life.

“O rose, thou art sick,” Jaime said, and then he shook his head and laughed. “You’ve only seen the man once and you’ve already got it bad, haven’t you?”

“Shut up,” I said, pouting at him. “I’m just trying to make sure it all works. This might be my only chance, you know.”

“Oh, I know, I know. After all, you’re twenty-seven next year, so if we don’t get you married off soon you’ll be on the shelf forever.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I said, “it’s not my age that messes everything up, is it? It’s the fact that ninety-five percent of all cis men hate femmes, and even if they like femmes they hate trans boys, which means that statistically speaking the chances of me getting a decent boyfriend are basically zero. So when someone like Anthony comes along, someone good-looking and older, not a chaser, not transphobic, _and_ he likes spoiling me, I don’t want to screw it all up, do I? What’s the chances of me ever meeting someone like that again? Let’s face it, if Anthony goes off me, I might as well go and jump in the canal.”

I was tearing up by this point, and people were staring even more than usual, but Jaime looked like he hadn’t even noticed them. He put his hands on my shoulders and gave them a little squeeze.

“Trust me, Jules, no man—or lack of a man—is worth jumping in the canal.”

“Easy for you to say, you can get a boyfriend anytime you want.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, if I don’t mind being some straight man’s ‘best of both worlds’.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” I sighed. “God, men are disgusting. Sometimes I wish I was asexual.”

Jaime laughed. “You and me both, Jules.”


	4. Chapter 4

“And that’s when I realised call centre work wasn’t for me,” I said, playing with the little umbrella in my drink. “I hate the headsets as well, they don’t half mess up your hair.” I looked up, and saw Anthony smiling at me, not saying anything, just listening. Then it dawned on me how long I’d been talking for, and I laughed. “Oh my god, you’re bored to death now, aren’t you? Sorry, I get like this when I’m tipsy, I shouldn’t have had that second drink, I bet you’re regretting bringing me out now—”

“I’m not,” he said, and he put his hand on top of mine. “I’m not bored at all, I like hearing you talk. You’re so full of life, Julian, it’s a pleasure to listen to you.”

My cheeks were already warm from the drinks, and now they felt red-hot. I looked away, and got a whiff of my own perfume as I moved, strong and sweet, and mixed with the booze it smelled like cherry cough syrup. Anthony’s perfume was much fainter. I couldn’t place it, but it was powdery and cold, and it made me think of cool satin sheets. I wondered whether my perfume went with his. It’s a bad sign if they clash. I wished I’d gotten a look at his collection when I was at his house, so I could plan my choices strategically.

“Are you alright?” He squeezed my hand. “I haven’t embarrassed you, have I?”

“No,” I said, turning back to him, “I was just feeling a bit hot. It’s warm in here, isn’t it?”

He smiled. “It is, you’re right. Shall we go for a walk outside?”

“Ooh, yes please!” I’d stood up and grabbed my coat before he’d finished his orange juice. As we walked through the bar, I could see the other guys side-eyeing us. Well, side-eyeing _me_ , really. Anthony hadn’t butched it up at all, he was still wearing a bit of makeup and a few bracelets, but he was nowhere near as attention-grabbing as I am. If he was on his own, they’d have sneered at him, but wherever I am I’m always the number one target for anyone who hates queens. The only person who ever gets as much stick as me is Jaime, which is probably why we’re best friends.

Outside the air was freezing, and I was shivering in my little bolero, but I didn’t care. Anthony was holding my hand as we walked, and by the time we’d gotten to the railings by the river, I’d forgotten all about being too cold, being too hot, everything except the sound of his voice and the sight of his face. He was telling me about the place he’d gone on holiday the year before, which I didn’t catch the name of. Somewhere overseas, anyway, because he was telling me how hot it was at night over there, and how you had to plan your entire holiday wardrobe around only wearing a couple of layers at most, and then you had to factor the humidity into your skincare and your perfume choices as well. Everything he was saying made sense, so much sense, it was like listening to myself, only better.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” I said, and I wished I’d had more than two drinks so I had an excuse for gushing.

He put his arms around me, pulled me close, and kissed me. I could hear shouting in the distance, maybe aimed at us, maybe at one of the other couples by the railings, but it sounded a million miles away. His coat and scarf felt so soft against me, I wanted to be wrapped up in all that cashmere and silk forever. His perfume seemed stronger now, warmer, less like cold satin and more like velvet. I wanted to bathe in it.

When he asked me if I wanted to go back to his place, I wanted to say, _Yes! And never let me go!_ But I felt stupid enough as it was, so I just smiled and said, “Sure, I’m not working tomorrow, why not?”

The drive back took forever, and I was too frisky to concentrate on anything except what I wanted Anthony to do to me, so I kept snuggling up to him and putting my hand on his leg, until he ended up telling me to knock it off because I was distracting him from driving. Which I did, because I’m not an idiot, but getting told off just made me friskier. I wanted to hear that sharpness in his voice again. I sat there in the passenger seat thinking about all the things I wanted him to say to me, and by the time we got to Anthony’s house I was at boiling point.

I’m not great at asking for what I want, but that night I managed it. I was tipsy enough to just come right out with it, without worrying about what he’d think. I told him what I wanted, and I got it. This time we ended up in his bedroom, on the floor in front of the mirror, and it was so much rougher this time I thought I was going to scream the house down when I came. He was in the mood for a showy ending, so I told him he could finish over my chest or my backside, but not my face because I didn’t want my makeup ruining, and when he went for the chest I was so happy, because even though it’s been years I still haven’t gotten over the novelty of having a flat chest. It looks good, if you ignore the scars, and it looked even better that night. I felt like the hottest boy in the world.

Afterwards, when we were getting cleaned up, Anthony casually asked me if I felt like staying the night. I was drying my chest down when he said it, and I nearly dropped the towel in shock. I’d gotten used to the idea that he was probably going to drive me home, but that was all I expected. So when he smiled and said I could have my choice of bedrooms, either with him or in the spare bed if I was a light sleeper, I didn’t know what to say. I mean, the right thing to say would’ve been _Yes please!_ But saying the right thing doesn’t come naturally to me, so just I giggled and said, “Okay, but you’ll have to take me out for breakfast tomorrow morning…”

He laughed and said, “Of course,” but there was a bit of a funny look in his eyes, like maybe he was regretting the offer. I’d probably annoyed him. From what I’d seen of him, Anthony seemed like the type who wouldn’t take an offer back even if he was having second thoughts, and I didn’t want to stay if I wasn’t really welcome, but at the same time I thought it’d make things even more awkward if I said I’d changed my mind and went home.

“I’ll take the spare bed, then,” I said, faking a yawn. He probably wanted me out of the way as soon as possible, so I made out I was half-asleep already, and told him I was going to head straight to bed.

“Of course,” he said again, and for a minute I thought he was going to kiss me. But then he just smiled and said, “Well, I’m going to stay up a bit later, so I’ll leave you to it.” He said goodnight and went downstairs, and I sat down on the edge of his bath and tried to figure out how I’d managed to mess it all up so quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

“The thing about Anthony,” I said, “is that he’s been through everything I’ve been through.”

Jaime was supposed to be keeping still so the face mask didn’t crack, but he raised an eyebrow and said, “Everything?”

“Well, not _everything_.” I paused to blow on my nails. “But most of it, anyway. And actually he’s had it worse than me, since he’s a total top, and your average moron expects tops to be masc.”

“Tell me about it,” Jaime sighed.

“So he knows what it’s like,” I said, “and it’s just so nice not to have to explain things to him. Like, how many times have you had to walk some guy through why you can’t just get the bus home at the end of a date? Like it’s me being extravagant, as opposed to just wanting to get home in one piece. But Anthony gets all of that. I think that’s why he lets me stay the night, or at least drives me home. He’s always thinking about my safety, even though we’ve only been going out for a few weeks.”

“You don’t think it’s because he wants to see more of you? Maybe he can’t bear to pack you off into a taxi afterwards.”

“Yeah, right,” I laughed. “He’s perfect, but he’s not _that_ perfect.”

“Hmm.” Jaime smiled.

“Anyway,” I carried on, “the absolute best thing is that he doesn’t always expect sex. I mean, obviously that’s the main appeal for him, I’m not stupid, but if I’m not in the mood he’s totally fine about it. D’you remember that guy who got upset and cried every time I said no to sex? And he said it must mean I didn’t fancy him, because everyone knows that boys like me are up for it 24/7. Like a bit of eyeliner means you’re permanently in heat. But Anthony gets it, you know? He treats me like a real person, even if he’s only in it for a bit of fun.”

The timer beeped, and Jaime got up and started to wash his face mask off. “Is that all you’re in it for, though?” he said, raising his voice a bit so I could hear him from the bathroom.

I followed him and stood in the doorway. “Well, I’ve got to be realistic, haven’t I? I mean, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want a big romance. But if Anthony wanted that too, he’d have said so by now, wouldn’t he?”

“Have _you_ said so?”

“What, to Anthony?”

“Yeah.”

I snorted. “Don’t be stupid, he’d run a mile!”

Jaime looked over his shoulder at me, frowning, with water still running down his face. “If you haven’t told him, then for all you know he could be having this exact same conversation right now with _his_ best friend, moaning about how this lovely young man only wants him for sex and it’s breaking his heart.”

“Yeah, right,” I laughed. “You’ve been reading too many depressing gay novels.”

But honestly, I liked the idea of Anthony pining over me. I knew it was just a fantasy, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, imagining that he really did want a big love affair with me, and he was just taking his time over saying so. I wasn’t kidding myself, I didn’t really believe it, but it was such a nice thought, I used it as escapism. If I was having a bad day at work, I’d drift off into a daydream about Anthony declaring his love for me. I’d picture how it would happen, where we’d be, how he’d bring it up, what exact words he’d use. The daydreams never ended in sex, it was always just hugging and kissing, because I don’t believe anyone who says the word ‘love’ when they’re trying to get you into bed. It’s not real unless he says it in the daytime, when you’re doing something boring and unsexy. Sometimes even that doesn’t convince me it’s real.

The fantasy of him falling in love with me was so tempting, I started kind of acting like it was true. Not deliberately, I wasn’t trying to strongarm him into having feelings for me, I just kept accidentally responding as if it was all real. Like, he’d hold my hand while we were walking through a bar, and I’d find myself squeezing it every time he made me laugh or said something impressive. Or if he was listening to me rambling on about my day, sometimes I’d stop and lean over and kiss him on the cheek to say thank you. It was worst on the dates where we knew we weren’t going to have sex. Sometimes he’d be too tired, or I’d be feeling rough, and we’d go out anyway, or just spend the evening at his house, watching films or listening to music. Those dates were the danger zones. I knew he was just trying to keep me sweet so I didn’t say no the next time he was up for it, but it was so, so hard to keep reminding myself we weren’t a serious couple. Those nights looked and sounded and felt like the kind of dates you’d have with someone you loved, and as much as I tried to be realistic, I couldn’t stop myself getting carried away.

One night, when we’d been seeing each other for a couple of months, I nearly went too far. We’d been out to the pictures, and then after the film we went back to Anthony’s house. Not to have sex, we were both a bit under the weather so that was off the cards, but we weren’t ready to call it a night. So we sat on Anthony’s sofa and drank decaf tea and just talked, for a good hour or so. Earlier on we’d agreed that I’d stay over, since neither of us had work the next day, and Anthony liked having breakfast together. I was thinking about that as we talked, about how nice it was to wake up in Anthony’s house, about how I wished I could stay all day. It was always so comfortable there, never too hot or too cold, always loads to eat and drink, and so quiet, so private, that I could really let my hair down and be myself. It was starting to feel like home.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, and gave me this perfect smile, which made me feel like anything I said would be the right answer. We were holding hands, and his fingers felt so warm and smooth, wrapped around mine like a fur coat.

“I was thinking,” I said, “that I think I—”

I stopped, mortified. _Love you_ , was what I almost said.

“Go on,” he said, squeezing my hand. “You can tell me anything.”

And maybe generally that was true, but not this. Not this. If I’d finished that sentence I might as well have just got up and left. So instead I pulled my hand away gently, and faked a yawn.

“I was thinking that I’m shattered,” I said, “so I should probably get an early night.” I yawned again. “Must be that cold getting worse.”

“Yes,” he said, “you do look unwell. Let’s get you to bed.”

An image of him helping me get ready for bed flashed into my mind, and I knew that if he kissed me goodnight and gave me a cuddle I’d lose my grip. I’d say it. I couldn’t take the risk.

“Actually,” I said, standing up, “I think I’d be better off going home. You know, so I can sleep for as long as I like tomorrow morning. You don’t want me hanging around getting my germs all over you anyway,” I carried on, and I knew rambling was making it more awkward but I couldn’t stop. “So I’ll just get a taxi, if that’s alright?”

“Yes,” he said, “but wouldn’t it be easier if I drove you?”

And it would have, but then he would have kissed me goodnight in the car, and I’d have the same trouble all over again. “No, it’s alright,” I insisted, “I’m fine with a taxi.” I had my phone out, and I’d dialled the number for the taxi place before Anthony could reply.

After that night, I started keeping a tighter hold on my feelings. My heart is like a bear-trap, and it’s always me who gets stuck in it. I couldn’t take any chances, so I started keeping my distance a bit, not being funny with him or anything, but just steering clear of situations where my stupid feelings would surface. I put a stop to those sex-free dates straight away, since they were the biggest danger zone, and the rest of the time I made sure I didn’t hang around longer than I needed to. Sometimes I let him drive me home, but the rest of the time I insisted on taxis, and told him I didn’t want to put him out by making him drive me so late at night. I still let him take me out for meals and drinks and things, but I stopped talking about the different places I wanted to see with him, because if we started talking about fantasy day trips and holidays, I knew I’d end up slipping again. I kept myself locked-down, and as hard as it was, I knew I was right.

Anthony started cooling off on me after that, and I took it as proof that I was doing the right thing. What if I’d confessed my feelings, and the next week he’d started to get cold feet? I’d have felt a complete fool, and he’d probably have stopped seeing me altogether. So yeah, obviously I wanted more from Anthony than I was getting, and as time went on it seemed like he liked me less and less each week, but I kept telling myself I was lucky he even wanted me at all. In a perfect world he’d fall in love with me, but this isn’t a perfect world, is it?


	6. Chapter 6

It was a few weeks after all that when I lost my games shop job. Out of the two, it was the best one to get sacked from since they’d messed me about over hours so much more than the supermarket had, but as much as I hated the place, I didn’t know what I was going to do without the money. I mean, Mel and Lyndsey are always nice about it if anyone can’t pay their share of the rent, but every time I lose a job I wonder if this is going to be the point where their niceness runs out. So far I’ve scraped by every time, mainly because Jaime and Aidan don’t mind helping me out if I’m broke, just like I do for them when they need it. I don’t know what we’d do if all three of us were broke at the same time. I can’t crowdfund for rent, I come off as too annoying online, no-one would donate. Jaime jokes sometimes that we’ll have to go on the game, but I haven’t got the backbone for that. The way I see it, retail’s the only option I’ve got.

So when Anthony texted me to arrange our next date, I told him I didn’t want to wait until the weekend. Which was true, I really did miss him, but at the same time I just wanted something to take my mind off money and job applications. When the text arrived, I was in the middle of going through my clothes to figure out what I could sell, and it just seemed so tempting to forget about selling the clothes and start thinking about wearing them instead, so I asked him if he was free the next day, and when he said he was, I asked if we could go out for dinner. I didn’t tell him about losing the job, in case it made me come off too negative, so I just said I was bored and felt like being spoiled. He agreed straight away, but his message just said “Sounds great, I’ll pick you up at seven,” with no hearts or kisses. He was getting properly sick of me, I reckoned. Maybe it was the week for people to get sick of me. Even Jaime was probably going to tell me to get stuffed the next time I saw him.

The next day I only had a morning shift at the supermarket, so I had the whole afternoon to beautify myself. I went through the motions, but my heart wasn’t in it. I had a hot oil mask on my hair, and a sheet mask on my face, and I was just about to start doing the base coat on my nails, when I suddenly just stopped and couldn’t go on. I ended up on my knees on the carpet, crying my eyes out, with the shirt I was planning to wear bundled up in my fists. I wanted to tear it into little bits, but I guess even when I’m going off the rails I know better than to trash something I could sell, so I just screwed it up in my hands, twisted it like I was wringing out a flannel, like I wanted to twist myself up for ruining that job, and ruining things with Anthony, and ruining basically everything in my life.

I must have been crying for a good half an hour when my phone buzzed. I was expecting it to be Anthony cancelling the date, but it was just Jaime saying “good luck tonight, keep me posted,” which made me cry even more. A few minutes later he texted again asking if I was okay, and when I replied telling him I was feeling rough, he rang me straight away. He doesn’t mess about when he sees a danger sign.

“Tell me what’s up,” he said, and I did. I told him everything I was worrying about, how weird things were with Anthony, how much losing that job was messing with my head, how it was all my fault, all of it.

“Listen, Jules,” he said, “I think you should cancel the date with Anthony.”

“What? Are you mad?”

“Look, you’re not well,” Jaime said, in his serious voice, “and if you go out tonight you’ll just tire yourself out even more. Text him and tell him you’re ill, so you want to rearrange it for the weekend instead.”

“I can’t, he’ll get annoyed.”

“If he gets annoyed by someone being ill, then you don’t want him anyway.”

“I do, though…” I was almost whining.

“I know, Jules,” he said, “but seriously, you need to look after yourself. I don’t care how amazing this guy is, you’ve got to put yourself first.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I said, trying to steady my voice, “I feel better now, I’ll be okay. I just needed to vent.”

“Jules…”

“Really,” I said, “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Jaime said, “but if anything happens, ring me, alright? Even if it’s late, don’t just text, ring me.”

“Alright,” I said, but as we said goodbye I could tell he didn’t really believe me.

I’d wasted an hour getting upset, so I had to rush the rest of my hair and makeup, but I made sure I was as close to flawless as I could get. If Anthony was starting to go off me, then I wanted to at least make myself physically irresistible. Maybe he couldn’t stand my personality, but I’d make sure he couldn’t keep his hands off my body. I’d been planning to wear my billowy pink satin shirt and my burgundy jeans, but I decided I needed more firepower than that, so I switched to the slinkiest outfit I’ve got: black spray-on leather trousers, which to be honest are more like leggings than jeans, a strappy black velvet top with a mesh cut-out over the stomach, and my velvet ankle boots. I wasn’t messing about with the makeup either, I did the full scarlet lips and smoky eyes, which I normally only do for sex. My best diamante jewellery and my black faux fur coat went on over the top of all that, and by the time I’d finished getting ready, I felt unstoppable.

“Christ,” Mel said, as I waited in the living room, “you really mean business tonight, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “He’s going to regret giving me the cold shoulder, let’s put it that way.”

“Is he giving you trouble? D’you want me to have a word when he comes to collect you?” She grinned, and smacked her fist against her palm. Which was a joke, kind of, but on the other hand she’s the type of tiny butch who’s fully capable of beating up a guy twice her size if she gets fired up, so who knows.

“No, it’s alright,” I laughed, “he’s too handsome, it’d be a pity to mess up his face.” Then the car horn beeped outside, so I grabbed my coat and bag and did one last mirror check. “If he gets nasty I’ll give you a ring, though,” I said, and ran out the door.

When Anthony saw me, he was gobsmacked. “You look beautiful,” he said, and as soon as I got into the car he pulled me into a kiss, long and deep, as if we hadn’t seen each other for weeks. It was great, but at the same time it was way too risky, since it wasn’t even dark yet and I don’t exactly live in the most tolerant part of town.

“Hold your horses,” I laughed, pushing him away gently, “I spent hours doing my face, I don’t want it smudging before we’ve even had dinner.” Then I leaned back in and gave him another kiss, lighter this time, just barely brushing my lips against his. “But if you can hold on until later I’ll make sure it’s worth the wait.”

He put his hand on mine, and squeezed it. “I’ve missed you, Julian.”

I laughed again, I don’t know why. “Come on, let’s get a move on, or it’ll be midnight by the time we get there.”

“Alright,” he said, still smiling. There was that funny look in his eyes again, and I guess I knew deep down I’d annoyed him, probably been a bit too cheeky or too tarty or whatever, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was playing a character and each line was just coming out of my mouth automatically, while I watched it all from outside.

“I hope you’re in the mood to buy me a fancy dessert as well,” I said, doing my best Cleopatra smile, “because I haven’t eaten all day and I’m going to need at least a thousand calories worth of sugar if you want anything energetic out of me tonight.”

“Of course,” he said, and then he looked away from the road for a second to glance at my face. “Have you really not eaten today?”

I winced. Telling Anthony about my money problems wasn’t going to get the date off to a good start, so I shrugged and said, “I was busy, didn’t get the chance.”

He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. Distraction seemed like the best idea, so I tried to fill up the rest of the journey with as much lightweight chatter as I could manage. Mainly about other people’s dramas, to be honest, because if I talked about my own life I’d probably slip up and mention the job thing. By the time we got to the restaurant Anthony knew all about Jaime’s on-again-off-again thing with that binman, and Aiden’s blowup with his parents, and even stupid Tony’s crush on that guy in his office. It should have bored Anthony to death, but he seemed happy, like he actually enjoyed listening to me, so I just kept going. I talked all the way through the meal, about things I wanted to do in the future, places I wanted Anthony to take me, clothes I wanted to buy, different hair colours I was thinking about trying. I talked about everything except what was actually going on in my life. I felt like if I stopped talking, it’d all cave in on me.

Then in the middle of dessert everything started to slip. I’d had a couple of extra drinks during the main course, and Anthony hadn’t been totally happy about buying them since he said I shouldn’t drink that much on a nearly-empty stomach, but he didn’t outright refuse. Which is probably a good thing, because if he’d tried to forbid it, I would’ve kicked off in front of all those other couples, and you know how older men don’t like it when you cause a scene. In any case, I was properly drunk by the time I’d gotten halfway through my chocolate cake. I was telling Anthony about an outfit I wanted to put together, which I’d been planning for months, only I could never find a pair of trousers in the right cut and colour to go with the shirt. I was complaining, obviously, because it was just that one piece I was missing, and no matter where I looked I couldn’t find anything that went.

“Ugh, whatever,” I sighed, “it’s probably for the best, it’s not like I’ve got money to spend on clothes at the moment anyway. Considering how much rent I owe, if I came home in a brand-new pair of jeans I think Mel and Lyndsey would probably throttle me with them.”

“Your money situation’s tough at the moment, then?” Anthony said, gently. He wasn’t pushy about it, so I don’t know why I didn’t just lie and tell him it was fine.

 “Well, yeah,” I snorted, “twenty hours a week shelf-stacking isn’t exactly a living wage, is it?”

“No, far from it,” he said. “Did the other job come to an end?”

The way he phrased it made me laugh. Maybe in Anthony’s world you don’t quit or get sacked from a job, it just _comes to an end_ , like the sun setting, naturally, with no-one to blame. “I got sacked,” I said, jabbing my fork into the cake. “It’s not a big deal, it happens all the time.”

“It must have been rough on you,” he said, and he reached out to take my hand, but I moved away before he could touch me.

“I told you, it’s not a big deal.”

He looked worried, and I hated myself for being the kind of person that needs worrying about. He was so perfect, so much better than me, I couldn’t look away and at the same time it almost hurt my eyes to look at him, like staring at the sun. He was wearing a beautiful cream shirt with a gold floral pattern, and the light glittered on those gold threads as he moved, just like it glittered on the gold bracelets on his wrists, and on his hair, and on the gloss of his nails. He looked untouchable. Too good for me. I was stupid to ever think this could work.

“Julian,” he said, “if you’re struggling, I want to help.”

And he would have, I reckoned. If I’d asked him to cover my rent til I got another job, he would have. Anthony would have made everything alright, with one wave of his credit card. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I was freezing up, turning to stone. My face hardened, my mouth was tight and sour. Those extra drinks felt like they’d curdled inside me.

“Yeah?” I said, rolling my eyes. “Well, in that case I’ll send you a link to my Amazon wishlist. If you’re feeling generous, you can treat me to something off that.”

He looked like I’d slapped him in the face, but he didn’t reply. He looked away for a moment, and took a sip of his drink. When he looked at me again, it was like there was a glass wall between us.

“Anyway,” I said, putting my fork down, “fancy going straight back to your place?”

“Alright,” he nodded, “let’s go.” He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

After that, I knew it was only a matter of time until Anthony dumped me. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it still caught me off-guard. He’d been texting me less and less for months, and I never texted him first, so we only saw each other when he initiated it. Sometimes he went two or three weeks without asking to meet up, and each time I told myself that this was it, he’d finally had enough. But then he’d text me, and just like that I’d be frothing with excitement at the thought of seeing him. I hated myself for getting excited. He was clearly going off me, and yet my heart hammered in my chest every time I saw his name in my notifications. It was pathetic. _I_ was pathetic. I hated myself, and to be honest I started to hate Anthony too.

So when he texted one day asking to meet up in a café, I almost said no. I guess I must have known on some level what was coming, though. I agreed, even though it was only a cheap café, and there was obviously going to be no chance of sex afterwards. I was still broke, so I told myself that at least I’d get one last meal out of Anthony, even if it wasn’t exactly the deluxe treatment.

He was already there when I arrived, sitting at one of the little two-seater tables at the back. He spotted me as soon as I walked through the door, and the look in his eyes was so sad that my hackles went straight up. I put my hardest face on, as if he was inconveniencing me, as if I was taking time out of my busy day for him and he’d better appreciate it. I barely even smiled at him when I sat down.

“Would you like something to drink?” he said, sounding like a stranger.

“No.” I should have been nicer, but I knew what was coming, and if I was going to get dumped then I guess I thought I should earn it.

“You want to get straight to the point, then?” He smiled. “Alright, I won’t drag things out unnecessarily.”

I just folded my arms and waited for him to carry on.

“I’ve started seeing someone else, Julian.”

“So?” I shrugged. “Neither of us are monogamous, what are you telling me for?”

“I’m not monogamous,” he said, “but I want to concentrate on one thing at a time right now. I don’t think it’ll work if I keep seeing you alongside him. Perhaps eventually, but not now. I feel overwhelmed, to be quite honest—”

“What are you telling me all this for?” I cut him off as hard as I could. He was dumping me, and he wanted to tell me all about his emotional turmoil? If he thought I was going to sit there and play agony aunt he had another think coming.

“Well, I wanted to explain.”

“Honestly,” I laughed, forcing a smile onto my face. “You’re such a drama queen. If you don’t want to see me anymore, you could have just told me by text. You didn’t need to drag me all the way out here for a big conversation about it. It’s not like it’s a big deal, is it?”

“Isn’t it?” Anthony looked upset. Probably miffed that he didn’t get the big argument he was aiming for. Maybe he was hoping I’d cry.

“We were barely even friends with benefits,” I said, “it’s not like you owe me anything.”

He nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry for bringing you all the way out here.”

“It’s fine,” I said, standing up, “but I’ve got to get going.”

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer, then.”

“Okay,” I smiled at him, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. “See you around.”


	8. Chapter 8

I don’t remember how I got home that day, or what I did in-between getting home and Lyndsey finding me. All I’ve got to go on is the physical evidence I left behind, and other people’s memories. It’s like one of those crime scene reconstructions, only I’m the perpetrator as well as the victim. The only things I know for sure is that I drank all of Lyndsey’s whiskey, slashed a lot of my favourite outfits with a pair of scissors, and then went rifling through the bathroom cabinet. Lyndsey says I was looking for the leftover co-codamol from when Mel hurt her back last year, and that I was just lucky she’d already gotten rid of them.

When I woke up the next day, I was in my bed, and Jaime was sitting on a chair next to me, looking like a teacher gearing up to give me detention. This time there were no lectures, though. Jaime just squeezed my hand and said, “I know what happened with Anthony.“

“What? How d’you know that?”

“I rang him after we’d got you settled down.”

“Settled down?” That’s when I spotted the scraps of clothes on the floor, little chopped up bits of velvet and chiffon that used to be one of my favourite spring/summer looks. “Did I have a bad night?”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Jaime laughed, but he sounded shattered. He must have been up through the night looking after me. He’d done it before often enough. They’ve got a routine down. Lyndsey does the immediate urgent stuff and gets me away from anything dangerous, and then Jaime comes over to look after me through the night. He’s seen me at my absolute worst, with my head over the toilet, crying and begging to be allowed to just _die_ already. By rights he could tell me to get stuffed, but he never does.

“Sorry.” I squeezed his hand. “Bet I messed up your evening good and proper, didn’t I?”

Jaime smiled. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Jules.”

I was ashamed, and embarrassed, but at least it was only Jaime who saw me having a bad time. _Imagine if it was Anthony_ , I thought, _how mortifying would that be?_ And then my brain clicked into gear, and I thought: _Anthony_.

“Wait, hang on, did you say you rang Anthony?” I started to sit up, but my head was pounding, so I laid back down again.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Have you gone mad? What did you do that for?”

He shrugged. “Had a gut feeling he might be involved.”

“Oh my god,” I said, closing my eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t go off at him.”

“Nothing of the sort.” Jaime laughed. “We had quite a nice conversation, actually. Once I’d reassured him you weren’t on your deathbed, I mean.”

“You told him about last night?”

“Not the details, just the general gist. I know I shouldn’t have, but I can’t watch you screwing it all up like this, Jules.”

“Oh my _god_ …” I put my hands over my face and groaned. “It’s a good job he’s already dumped me, because if I ever see him again knowing he knows, I will literally die of embarrassment.”

“Look,” Jaime said, letting his voice dip into his deep, serious range. “I know you’re in a bad way right now, and I know this is probably not the right time for Real Talk, but I’ve had enough, Julian.”

“Enough of what?” I peeked at him through my fingers. “Enough of me? Are you friend-dumping me?”

“Oh, for god’s sake, _shut up_ for a minute, Jules!” Jaime shook his head. “Just be quiet and listen.”

It’s not like I had much choice, given that every time I moved my stomach felt like a washing machine on a spin cycle. So I kept quiet and listened while he told me everything that had gone on while I was out of it. Even when I wanted to shriek and slap him, I kept my mouth shut. Even when he said he’d told Anthony how I felt about him. Even when he said Anthony felt the same way. I kept my mouth shut all the way until the bit where he said Anthony wanted to come and see me.

“Oh my god!” I screeched. “What have you _done_?”

“I’ve sorted out your love life, you ungrateful little trollop.” Jaime took both of my hands in his and squeezed them gently. “Now hurry up and get better so you can return the favour.”


	9. Chapter 9

I didn’t let Anthony come and see me that day, but I didn’t keep him waiting for long, just a few days to get myself back on an even keel. Once I was feeling up to it, we met up at the same café we’d gone to that first day, and since it was boiling hot he bought me the most expensive milkshake they did, which was a big chocolate ice cream thing with a flake in the top.

“To build up your strength,” he said, “since you’ve been ill.”

I must have thrown up about a million calories’ worth of food after I drank all the whiskey, so I thought he was probably right, and when I’d finished the first milkshake I asked for another one.

“I’m going to get fat if you feed me up like this,” I laughed.

He smiled. “I don’t care.”

A year ago I would have rolled my eyes, but the weird thing was that I actually believed him. “Because you love me for my insides, not my outsides?”

“Yes,” he said, “and because you’d look lovely regardless. Young or old, thin or fat—you, my dear, have the kind of beauty that never fades.”

“What if it does, though?” I started chopping up the flake with the little spoon that came with the milkshake. “What if I turn into an old hag on my thirtieth birthday?”

“Then we’ll be old hags together,” he laughed. “Unless you’re going to get cold feet once I turn fifty?”

I scoffed. “As if.”

“Listen, Julian,” he said, “I know you’ve had a tough time recently, and I don’t want to put you on the spot.”

“It’s alright,” I said, sipping my milkshake. “Go on.” I knew what was coming, and for once I felt sure of myself, sure of what my answer was going to be. I’d had plenty of time to think about things, while I waited for my mega-hangover to wear off. I knew now exactly where I’d gone wrong, and more importantly, exactly where _he’d_ gone wrong. I knew what I needed.

“Well,” he carried on, coming over surprisingly flustered for someone who’s normally so smooth. “Shall we try again? I know we can’t undo all the unpleasantness and start from scratch, but even so—”

“Yes.”

“Is that a yes to not being able to start from scratch, or…?”

“It’s a yes to trying again,” I said, “as long as we’re both clear what we’re in it for. And personally I’m fed up of messing about and playing games, and I’m fed up of wondering whether I mean anything to you or not, and I’m fed up of feeling like I’m just a sex toy, so I’m going to be really clear, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, smiling.

“Romance.” I said it loudly, and some people at the next table started gawping, but I didn’t care. Toning myself down hadn’t gotten me anywhere last time, and I’d had enough of hints and guesswork and talking in code. “Romance is what I want. Capital R, _Romance_. A proper relationship. Not monogamous, don’t worry, I haven’t had a dramatic conversion,” I laughed, “but I want a Serious Loving Relationship.” I tapped my nail on the table to emphasise each of those three words. “And that’s it. That’s what I want. If I can’t have that, I’m not interested. My way or the high way.”

“Perfect.” Anthony reached out and held my hand, so he must have been feeling the same way about those gawping heteros. “Absolutely perfect.”

“That’s what you want?”

“That’s what I want.”

For all I knew he could have been lying to butter me up. I’m rubbish at telling whether people are being honest. It could all have been a big scam to get me into bed again, but it _felt_ true. It felt right. When I looked at Anthony, I saw the same warmth in his eyes that had been there all along, only now it looked obvious. Now I didn’t know how I’d ever missed it.

“In that case,” I said, grabbing his hand, “I’m all yours.”


End file.
